Hopeless Manifestations
by hopelessmanifestations
Summary: Perhaps it's not fair to judge others so harshly, for once everyone's carefully constructed facades are stripped back, we are all just human. But then people like James Potter waltz into your life with their charming smiles and incommodious arrogance and I can't help but to think, screw kindness.
1. The Sacred Eight

_Sonder_.

Do you know what that word means?

Don't worry, for those non Ravenclaws among us, I'll elucidate.

 _It's the realization that each passerby has an existence as vivid and complex as your own._

Be that a sprawling metropolis of interconnected lives each with their own inherent doubts, ambitions and insecurities that you may never once posses in the fleeting time you are given to make your mark on the world.

So perhaps it's not fair to judge those so harshly, for what each person shows you of their life may appear as undamaged as a newly bloomed rose yet beneath each flower is that which you cannot see. Those are the troubles which us as humans almost instinctively suppress in a frail attempt to convince ourselves that we are intact when in actuality it wouldn't be wrong to conclude otherwise.

It's at times like these that I believe it's only right to treat others with the uttermost compassion as once everyone's carefully constructed facades are stripped back, _we are all just human._

But then people like Alfie Marsden walk over to you with their charming smiles and incommodious arrogance and I can't help but to think, _screw kindness._

"Hello gorgeous," he stood all but a metre in front of me, eyes undressing every inch of my body, "I don't think I've ever seen you around before." A toothy smile was flashed my way, not the friendly sort though, this was the kind that quite clearly told me that I was the next victim on his ever growing list of girls he would offer a private tour of his bedroom to. A list which, unlike the majority of the female population of Hogwarts, I would be quick in my attempts to remove my name from.

It was inevitable really, he has seemingly hooked up with most of the single girls in our year that are considered over a five, thus he has now been forced to lower his standards to the likes of myself. Apparently, by the end of fifth year, he'd already made his way through the entirety of the _'fit list'_ that's scrawled across one of the cubicle doors in Myrtle's bathrooms much to her disdain.

Many teenagers crave attention, relishing in the recognition it brings about, and those who don't, the kind who sit at the side of a party content in watching everyone live their lives - the wallflowers of society - still have their close circles of friends, to laugh with, to cry with. But I was neither, all I asked for was anonymity.

To all who took more than a second to look at me, and I mean really _look_ , they'd notice that I was standing taller than most others, my smile feigned, my posture rigid and my eyes vacant, watching but not always seeing.

In the summer before my twelfth birthday, I sat before the inordinate mirror that hung on one of our many bathroom walls, legs crossed and scissors in hand. At first I cut only a few strands, letting the almost silvery locks fall through my fingers, but I cut again, then once more and I kept doing so until I was sat within a circle of my own hair and that which remained on my head was only an inch or two long. My mother had screeched when she'd seen what I had done - like a hippogriff threatened by some inconsiderate student, though she was angry, not scared - whilst my father had stood a few paces behind her, failing in his attempts a suppress a smile. To add insult to injury, instead of wearing the fitted blouse and tight pencil skirt she had purposely bought for my uniform, when I boarded the Hogwarts Express in my first year, I'd put them to one side opting for the loosest fitting shirt I could find paired with some rather baggy trousers.

 _I looked irrefutably plain._

Yet in the social sphere of Hogwarts where ordinary equalled invisible, that was exactly what I had wanted.

That was how it remained, for five years, until this summer when my mother decided that she was not going to put up with it anymore as, and I quote, ' _Aria Lorelei Rosier you will not find yourself any fitting suitors if most of them mistake you for a boy'._ In case you were wondering, her idea of ' _fitting_ ' means rich and of pureblood decent, aren't I lucky?

It was mere minutes after she made that statement that I was viciously attacked with multiple bottles of Manegro solution and Sleekeasy's hair potion, hence my once dishevelled mop that lay atop my head has been replaced by a cascade of loose curls that nearly reach my waist.

"You mustn't have been paying much attention then," I raised my gaze to meet his. There was no denying he was attractive: honey blonde hair with sculpted cheekbones and the kind of celestine eyes that have girls all over the school falling out of their seats. Quite literally in some cases, the small scar in the centre of Matilda Vain's forehead isn't from a quidditch accident like she tells everyone.

He may have the beguiling good looks more often seen within the pages of Witch Weekly than the halls of a wizarding school but his personality, characterised by narcissism, did leave much to be desired.

"Well I'm paying attention now aren't I?," he interjected, the lazy smile still hovering on his face, "So how about it. You, me and a bottle of firewhiskey, my dorm tonight?"

It's sad to think that pretty much all of the other girls he's used that line on would now proceed to squeal 'yes of course' whilst flicking their hair over their shoulder with some vexatious giggle that would make me want to rip my own hair right out of my scalp. Instead of doing that, rolled my eyes with purpose. I'm an ambitious girl, that's something I've always been, but I can't say that I've ever aspired to be one of the many notches on Alfie Marsden's bedpost.

"There's many things I want to do this year and I'm sorry but you just aren't one of them," I stated, quite bluntly if I'm honest. The boyish smile fell into a frown moments before a look of utter confusion swept across his features, like I said, he's not used to being turned down.

Maybe in a surprising turn of events, I shall be the one to induce Alfie Marsden's crippling fear of rejection although seeing as he's just winked at the seventh year who was ferociously batting her eyelashes at him from the other end of the platform, it seems unlikely.

He cocked his head slightly, almost as if he was trying to sift through my current thoughts, "what's your name?"

"So you ask me back to your dorm before you even know my name?" I inquired, purposely keeping my tone emotionless in an attempt to frustrate him; keeping sentiment out of things was one of the many unfortunate skills I had to learn as a pureblood child but it does come in useful occasionally.

"Thought I'd cut the bullshit, might as well skip to the good part right?" he asked with clear confidence as if he expected me to have had a sudden change of heart and now wanted to willingly leap into his bed tonight.

I had not by the way, just to make that absolutely clear to you.

"Wrong," I quipped, causing a slight falter in his smile.

"We'll see about that," he replied, shooting me one final smirk before he was carried away by the churning current of frantic parents shouting forlorn goodbyes to the children who were more than happy to return to the castle. A first year ran across the spot where he was stood moments ago, eyes alight with excitement as she stared at the train, blue ribboned pigtails trailing behind her showcasing the clear bias her parents had towards what I'd assume was their house back in the day.

It was at that exact moment, when I snapped out of my daydream, that I realised I had not in fact removed my name from the list as intended, but written it in bold, circled it and then underlined it for good measure.

He saw me now as a challenge, so a challenge I would be.

The crowds at King's Cross station today were truly quite unique. Young children frantically running around grasping tightly the metal cages in which housed more than a couple rather discontented owls, their parents often standing out just as much as them with their billowing velveteen robes trailing behind them as they ran straight through what appears to be a solid stone wall. To this day, I still can't quite understand how the muggles have yet discover the annual chaos that erupts on Platform 9 ¾.

And so I stood there, alone in the centre of a crowded station, life swarming around me - children running, mothers fretting, teenagers smiling - and I relished in the disarray momentarily before I was dragged back to reality by a voice which I was less than pleased to hear.

"Aria dear," an impeccably presented, yet somewhat overdressed woman walked up to me, rich brown curls grazing her shoulders with every step she took, "that boy," her gaze was focused on Marsden's back, a pucker forming between her brows, "he wasn't a muggleborn was he?"

"No mother," I politely answered with a small shake of my head. I fingered the hem of my dress lightly - the knee-length, cornflower blue one she had insisted I wore to 'keep up appearances' - and smoothed it down where the fabric was beginning to crease. As I watched the accumulating crowds, a sea of ripped jeans, oversized jumpers and converse trainers, I suddenly felt incredibly overdressed but there was nothing that could be done now.

"Good," she smiled slightly, "you know what I've told you about those sort of people, only talk to them if necessary but don't ignore them completely. We don't need to give reasons for the likes of Harry Potter and _his sort_ to interfere in our business now do we?" she said his name with an air of disgust, like just saying those words left a foul taste resting upon her tongue.

By 'his sort' she meant people who actually cared about muggleborns and treated them with the same respect they would show any other person.

 _People like me.  
_  
"No of course not," I dutifully replied in a fake tone of distaste which had been perfected over many years of lying through my teeth to please my family. I let my gaze wander over to the man in question where he stood near the scarlet engine wearing a smile of pure adoration as he hugged his daughter tightly, kissing her on the forehead before reluctantly letting her go and putting his arm back around his wife's waist. I couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy, he was the man who embodied everything I was taught to despise yet I wished my mother would love me the way he loved his children, unconditionally.

As soon as Lily had bounded off across the platform in search of one of her friends, he turned around to send a cautious glance in the direction of our group, eyes scanning across each member before turning back to his own family.

 _The Sacred Eight._

Three words, referring to our group, that were so commonly inscribed upon the front page of The Daily Prophet, usually followed by some scandalous article that was plagued with inaccuracies. It takes little imagination to assume what my mother would say if she knew I've perused through the odd copy in the past, _'Aria I do not want to see you reading that kind of balderdash again, do you understand? You are a Rosier not just some common witch,'_ to which I would reply with a monotonous _'Yes of course mother'._

But that's besides my point, eight was once twenty eight but many of the once famous pureblood families were wiped out during the great wizarding wars or their blood purity was lost due to marriages out of the respectable households.

Now all that remain are the bloodlines Fawley, Avery, Yaxley, Sewlyn, Carrow, Nott, Rowle and then of course there's us, _Rosier._

The Malfoys, in all their blonde haired glory, are sometimes classed as a ninth addition, as Lucius' son, the family heir, married the pureblood Astoria Greengrass, so they often attend our events yet are not fully integrated into the group as their views are entirely reformed unlike everyone else's. I mean come on, his son is best friends with Albus Potter of all people, can you even get anymore reformed than that?

Most of The Sacred Eight, my mother of course being one of them, despise the Malfoy's for being _'_ _blood traitors'_. However, with them being the only pureblood family loved by the media since Mr Malfoy became friends with Harry Potter not long after the war, they hold status and in times where purebloods are judged and hated, status is everything.

"Honey, go and speak to your cousin Octavia," my mother instructed in a tone considerably less sweet than her words. At the mention of her name, a shorter girl with flowing blonde locks practically skipped up to me and thrust her arms tightly around me in what I would consider to be an extreme invasion of personal space.

"Aw Aria, I've missed you," the high pitch squeal with which she delivered that line, elicited a dull ringing in my left ear which I hoped wouldn't bother me for the entirety of the train journey to Hogwarts. After longer than was comfortable, she released me from the hug but kept her hands on my shoulders, holding me at arm's length. Her eyes moved across the entirety of my body before she broke out into a smile, her perfectly straight teeth shown off to the world, "Wow Ari, you look amazing," she exclaimed before turning to my mother, "Ariadne, I love what you've done to her hair, I've been trying to get her to grow it out for so long, how did you manage to convince her?"

"With great difficulty," she laughed, smiling fondly at her, "but I completely agree, doesn't it just look so much nicer than that awful style she wore before?"

"Truly," she replied flashing me a vaguely apologetic smile while my mother was looking the other way, probably seeking out Catarina Fawley

Ah yes, now is probably a fitting time to mention that Octavia Maria Avery is the daughter my mother always wished she had, polite and beautifully well presented with an impeccable taste in fashion and of course, _Slytherin_.

The way the light caught her platinum hair made it glow against tan skin and the emerald hued dress that hugged her figure perhaps a little too much. It was obvious to all who laid eyes on her that veela blood ran in the family.

It may surprise you a little to hear that I really don't care all that much anymore, I got over the jealousy a long time ago. Much to the annoyance of the girls I shared a dormitory with, I cried myself to sleep every night for the first term of my debut year at Hogwarts but then as the months have passed by I've just grown to care less and less.

It may be sad to say that I've gotten to the point in my life where I prefer it this way, being the family disappointment meant I had less of the limelight and so I don't have to keep up appearances quite so much.

If I'm being truly honest, with the exception of Scorpius Malfoy, she's my favourite one in the group as although she still believes purebloods are superior she'll still happily have a civil conversation with a muggleborn and when she found out my best friend was one, she covered for me so our families never found out. The only people she really doesn't see eye to eye with is quite obviously the Potters and the Weasley's but even I don't mind some of them, I'm a pathetic excuse for a Rosier. I know.

"It really does look better than before Ari," she gushed, flattening pieces of my slightly windswept hair as she spoke.

"Well I am going to have to thank you for that backhanded compliment", I said, tucking my hair behind my ears to free my face from the mesh of strands that covered it prior, "I'll see you in the prefect meeting."

Octavia nodded in response to that, subconsciously brushing her fingers across little green prefect's badge that was pinned proudly to her dress before returning to bid farewell to her own parents.

"Goodbye darling, I'll be seeing you at Christmas," my mother said before enveloping me into a noticeably awkward hug, "remember everything I told you and look after yourself, I love you."

I nodded wordlessly before she turned away to begin a conversation with Octavia's mother which was likely about as interesting as one of Professor Binns' double history lessons.

My arm jerked backwards violently as a young sandy haired boy who I'd guess, based on his height and undefined features, was in his third year, bumped into me in his haste. He began to turn so that he could face me, speaking as he did so, "I'm sorry, I'm in a bit of -"

His sentence stopped, mouthing forming a simple, "Oh," when he finally faced me, taking in my attire and the group I stood next to, "I-I'm sorry, well, I didn't, it's n-not, really I am sorry, truly, I -"

I held up a hand to mute his panicked rambling, "it's fine," I smiled, "don't worry about it." The boy's shoulders visibly relaxed as he gave a small nod and ran off a little quicker than was necessary. That was one of the handful of times that someone at Hogwart's had noticed my connection to The Sacred Eight, unfortunately, it was far from being the last.

My attention moved to my father who stood a few feet away from our group, his expression stern and imposing, "Aria listen to what your mother told you and do as she said, okay?"

His stare remained fixed on me, expectant of an answer or at least some form of recognition. The small smile I failed to conceal was response enough for him to walk over before tightly wrapping his arms around me. "I'm only joking," this time his words were whispered, right next to my ear, so that only I could hear, "ignore everything she says."

His embrace was comforting, familiar, not full of expectation and formalities like my mother's, he cared and I needed that.

"I will," I laughed quietly into his chest, gratefully returning the hug, "you know me dad."

"Unfortunately I do," he sighed with a genuine smile, the kind that reached your eyes with a sparkle and made your emotions sing. Despite being a few feet away from the main group, whose attention was captured by trivial conversation, he still spoke in a hushed voice so they couldn't overhear what we were saying.

"Hey," I exclaimed with more indignance than would normally be acceptable for a pureblood child, hitting him lightly on the arm to make my point.

"Ah resorting to violence now are we, what have you become?" He tried to keep his expression stern for a moment but lasted about three seconds before a grin spread proudly across his face, telling the world how much he enjoyed winding me up.

"See, I can just blame that on you since you're the one who brought me up."

"You would now, wouldn't you," he kissed me on the forehead tightening his grip for a moment then released me just before my breathing could be further constricted.

"I love you so much sweetie," he ruffled my once sleek hair causing little bits to stand at weird angles and fall in front of my eyes.

"I'm going to miss you dad," I murmured, giving him a final brief hug before turning to face the crowds of people swarming the train, more than ready to leave for Hogwarts after an arduous summer spent with my parents. Straightening my dress one final time, I strode into the heart of the chaos, suede heels clicking merrily against the concrete platform.

 _ **Author's Note:**_

 _ **This is a story I originally started to write on and I'm kinda heartbroken that it is closing down, so in response to that I am moving my stories across to here.**_

 _ **I hope you all like it, and more chapters will follow :)**_

 ** _~ Charlie ~_**


	2. Hate At First Sight

The storm began as a gentle whisper, resounding amongst the clouds in a low rumble as the thunder rolled across the graphite hued sky. Lightning stretched out to form a canopy of intertwining streaks, sharply contrasting against the bedarkened skies whilst the rain began to fall haphazardly. My eyes traced the paths of water as they meandered across the elongated windows forming complex network of tiny streams. I sat alone in the prefects carriage, lazily pressing my face against the glass whilst I counted each bird that was daring enough to fly past the train in a feeble attempt to suppress my ever growing boredom. It may be strange to say that in ways I envied them, but I did. They were unhibited, free from the restraints of family ordinance and etiquette that I myself had battled with for so long. I wished that I could just fly away from a situation if I didn't like it but alas, I could not, I have to stand tall, feign a smile and walk with my head held high because I'm a Rosier and that's what we do.

"You're here early," a refreshingly cheerful voice sounded from the doorway. Molly Weasley stood a few feet away, her smile bright and fiery hair stopping abruptly at her shoulders, with her milky blue eyes fixed on me. She slid the door closed behind her with a harsh metallic screech and began to walk down the carriage.

"You know me, I hate being late," I shrugged, as she dropped a large pile of impeccably organised papers on the table next to mine. She stared at them with the look of someone who knew all too well the hours it would take to file through them when she would much rather be doing something of greater excitement.

"I wish all the other prefects thought the same way," she laughed, pulling a packet of liquorice wands from her pocket then slowly nibbling away at the end of one, "don't hate me, but I've got a few documents left to fill out so I won't be the best of company."

"It's fine Molly, don't worry, get them finished." I shuffled along slightly, creating a space for her at my table with a quick gesture before setting my sights back to the rolling expanse of hills that tumbled across the horizon. Unlike many others, I've never minded the silence, it was warm and comforting as nothing was expected of me so I had no pretences to uphold.

Molly was hunched over the table, unsure of what to write which was evident in the way her quill lingered in the ink for a moment too long and she let the nib press into the parchment until a blotch of ink had soaked into the page.

"Okay, forget that I need your help."

"Well that lasted all but two minutes," I laughed as she turned in her seat to face me, armed with her feather quill and parchment, "what's up then?"

"I don't know who to pair myself with for prefect rounds," her brow furrowed as she drew a thick line through a name about a third of the way down the list and inscribed another next to it.

"Are we not working together again?"

"Well since you turned out not to be a manic pureblood, I thought maybe I should keep some of the others in check," she held out the packet of sweets to me, but I turned them down with a slight shake of my head. I've hated liquorice since the very first time my mother made me force a few down at one of Catarina Fawley's many lavish social events.

During my fifth year at Hogwarts I was handed the responsibility of Ravenclaw prefect so when Molly Weasley, moral saviour and supporter of all things good, saw a name like Rosier on the list, she was rightfully apprehensive and asked the head boy at the time - a rather over-zealous hufflepuff - to pair her with me so that she could keep an eye on me. After weeks of chatting, walking in on unsuspecting couples, and bunking off some rounds to sit and eat sugar quills next to the Black Lake, she soon realised I cared as little about as blood purity as she did so, unbeknownst to both of our families, we ended up getting along rather well.

"Understood."

"See, the thing is, my cousin Louis has managed to make it as a Gryffindor prefect this year, don't ask me how, I honestly do not have a clue," she shook her head for emphasis, "and since chaos practically stalks the boy I thought maybe I should keep a watch on him."

Her younger, and significantly blonder, cousin had rightfully earned his reputation as one of Hogwarts' crowned princes of chaos who took pleasure in watching the world burn. Or Professor Robertson's hair in the case of that particularly onerous muggle studies lesson near the end of last year which resulted in the smell of singed keratin hanging around one of the fourth floor classrooms for more lessons than I would have liked. Despite receiving a week's worth of detentions cleaning the Great Hall without magic, he along with Roxanne Weasley and Kit Maynard, insisted that it was in fact worth it.

"He's not that bad," I tried to reason but we both here the uncertainty in my voice.

"Why don't you ask Robertson what he thinks?," she smiled, "I don't think his right eyebrow ever quite grew back after the hair burning incident."

"I'm clutching at loose straws here aren't I?"

"Completely."

I started to read over the list of names present on the sheet of parchment in front of me when Molly began to speak again.

"But then one of your lot has just become one too so -" She trailed off, the crease between her eyebrows deepening.

"Do you have a name?"

She dropped her quill in favour of rummaging through the pile of papers she had brought, only stopping when she came across a more distressed looking piece which had clearly been well used. Her finger trailed down the page, eventually pausing next to a pair of words or, more precisely, a name, "Clio Yaxley."

I let a memory of the girl in question surface, she was shyer than most,, quiet and rather reserved, not much of a threat I would assume.

"As far as the Sacred Eight go, she's not too bad," I reasoned, "I mean she still believes we're superior and all that, but she tends to just keep to herself."

"Thanks, Louis it is then," she picked up her quill and resumed the frantic scribbling, the nib scratching harshly against the parchment as we fell once again into a comfortable silence.

Sleep had begun to reach out to me, eyes fluttering closed and breathing slowing to a steady rate, when a jumble of voices arose from the other side of the wall, creeping through the crack underneath the door to wake me from my semi-consciousness. I blinked a few times, attempting to clear the haze that had begun to cloud my brain, and strained to hear what they were saying. With there being at least ten metres and a solid wooden door between us, it was impossible to decipher individual words as they were muffled through the thick boards of mahogany wood that lined the carriage. Despite an inability to work out what they were saying, the formal intonations and the unmistakeable clicking of heels that accompanied them meant that it wasn't hard to work out who the voices belonged to.

"Molly," My voice may have been hushed but I spoke with clear urgency, that which she couldn't ignore. She made a small noise in acknowledgement, scribbling down one final word before tearing her eyes away from her writings to look at me.

"The others are coming," I stated without wasting time, knowing that she was smart enough to take my hint.

Fortunately for me, she did.

It took at least three seconds before the crease between her brows faded and the look of confusion was replaced with one of understanding as a smirk began to work it's way onto her face.

"Ah, is this the bit where we pretend to hate each other so that our families don't hate us?" she inquired, though she most certainly knew that she was right. She didn't waste another second before jumping into action, quickly gathering the countless sheets of parchment she had spread across the table into one neat pile that she could carry along the aisle as she leapt out of her seat to exchange it with one further down the carriage.

"You're a smart one Weasley"

"Was that a compliment Rosier?"

"Don't flatter yourself," I quipped, soon getting back into the swing of this whole fake arguing business, "that ego of yours doesn't need further inflation."

It was surprisingly fun actually.

It was only then, when the smile fell from her face and her eyes widened, that she noticed the packet of sweets that she'd left lying in the centre of my table, the same kind of sweets that everyone in The Sacred Eight knew that I despised.

"Accio liquorice wands," she hissed, wand arm extended towards them. With a gentle rustle, they rose from the table, flying through the air before landing in her opposite hand just before the door handle began to twist. I pressed my face back against the window as if we'd never spoken a word.

Keres Carrow strutted through the doorway like she owned the place, her obsidian hair tumbling across pale skin like ink spilt over fresh parchment. She had her arm loosely wrapped around the waist of the boy beside her who stood a fair few inches taller despite his presence not being as demanding as hers. Erebus Yaxley possessed much softer features that looked incredibly out of place when paired with the sharp cheekbones and cold persona of his beloved girlfriend.

Many said she looked like a young Bellatrix Lestrange - the hair, the skin, the walnut-sized eyes, blue though not brown - not quite as crazy but almost as intimidating.

She shot Molly and unsurprisingly disgusted look as she walked past for which, in return, she received an exaggerated eye roll and a falsified smile.

I expected them, as always, to carry on past me with a curt nod for the sake of etiquette and find a seat at the other side of the carriage as far away from any of the Weasleys as possible. But no, my luck wouldn't have that so instead they came and sat down opposite me.

I'd kept my head down and had given them no reason to question my loyalties so I didn't understand why they wanted to talk to me.

Can't a girl be left to contemplate her hatred of pureblood ideals in peace, thank you very much?

"Aria."

Apparently not.

She slid into the seat opposite with a certain grace that I had not yet mastered, blue eyes fixed on me as she waited for her boyfriend to sit down beside her. Unlike Erebus, who gave me a warm smile in greeting, her expression remained devoid of emotion which wasn't unusual for her, like the majority of the Carrow family. For the third time today, I felt a pair of eyes trail over my figure as she took in my new appearance from the loosely curled hair right down to my french manicured nails.

"It seems Ariadne has attacked you with some of her many styling potions," she said in reference to my mother, "all in the name of status Aria, your coming of age will be soon and a woman of significant blood heritage must always exude class so that boyish hair just wouldn't do."

Most would associate the term 'coming of age' with times that have long passed, yet it's a phrase commonly used in the pureblood community, though my mother calls it 'traditional,' I'd sooner say 'old fashioned'. To our family, and those like us, it signifies the seventeenth birthday of a child after which, by custom, they must become engaged to another pureblood within three years to avoid a drop in status. The sooner the better.

"I agree," lifting the bottle of water from the table, I took a long sip to calm my nerves before replacing the lid and setting it back down in front of me, "I doubt any potential suitors would have appreciated my former fashion choices."

She laughed in response to that comment and, dare I say, all the menace, the intimidation and harsh contours left her face and, for a split second, her expression softened so she looked almost normal. It only lasted a moment before her composure returned, "do you know if she has any particular families in mind for your marriage?"

"I've heard her mention the Amelioré's youngest son to my father, he is only a year older than me, Lorenzo I believe his name is."

She nodded in affirmation, "A very respected household in France, they hold a lot of power in high society, I see Ariadne is aiming high for you, as she should."

"And Rosier is a respected name here in England, for that reason we should pair well," I said what I knew she wanted to hear, something I had learned to do well over the years.

And pleased she was, "I do like how proud you are of your blood heritage, it's inspiring."

It always a shock to me how spectacularly she had managed to misjudge me. I am a good liar, I have to be, but Keres has always been perceptive, incredibly so, and could see through a facade as easily as if the words 'blood traitor' were carved into their forehead.

But not with me.

"Now that I can drink to," I lied smoothly.

"And drink we shall," Erebus spoke for the first time during the conversation, "another time however."

"I'm almost certain you didn't sit with me to talk makeovers and French wizarding families," I allowed a smile, as I looked up at the both of them, "so why don't you tell me why you're really here."

"Aria, always the perceptive one," she laughed, flicking a strand of charcoal hair over her shoulder after it had fallen in front of her eyes for the third time in the past five minutes.

At least I know I'm not a complete disappointment to the pureblood society though, when I think about it, I can't decide if that is actually good or not.

"Ariadne mentioned something about seeing you with one of Potter's friend's on the platform."

Ah my mother, it would of course be her, she and Catarina Fawley live and breathe gossip. I'm pretty sure it's the only reason they organise those dinner parties, so they can discuss whose marriage is breaking down over filet steak and sauteed mushrooms, then perhaps delve into the world of political scandals with a slice of tarte au citron and a glass of châteauneuf-du-pape.

"May I ask who?" Despite being posed as a question, I had no choice in whether I could reply to this, she was expecting an answer.

"An idiot, of the arrogant variety to be precise," it was one of the few times that I wasn't actually lied to her.

She raised a dark eyebrow in a questioning manner.

"Sandy haired, about ye high," I extended my arm a few inches above my head, "thinks he's Merlin's gift to this earth."

"Oh I know the one," Erebus said with a nod. Everything about the eldest Yaxley boy was easy-going. From the innate chatter to every lazy smile he throws at people, he may not be the same around muggleborns but with us he's pleasant, likeable even.

"Me too," she looked thoughtful for a moment," what was he after?"

Keres' once ash blonde curls framed her angular face perfectly, the dark locks contrasting so harshly against paperwhite skin as she turned her head to gaze out of the window. Everything about the eldest Carrow girl was anything but easy-going. From the malicious acts and her cruel words to the constant air of superiority that she exuded with little effort, she was cold, calculating and oh-so intimidating. Well, when she wanted to be.

"This is Alfie Marsden we're talking about here, there's only ever one thing on his mind."

"And it's not friendship," Erebus added.

She laughed at the pair of us, "and you replied with?"

"I accepted his offer of course," I made sure my voice was laden with sarcasm, "who wouldn't want to spend a night in a halfblood's bedroom with nothing but a bottle of firewhiskey and an arsenal of ill intentions?"

Keres raised an eyebrow at me but she was clearly trying to hold back a smile.

"Okay I told him that there was nothing I would hate more," I finally said.

She smirked, her barely rouged lips pouting slightly before she replied, "this is why I like you Aria, you don't put up with shit like that."

That comment ended our short conversation so she arose from her seat with a polite nod and made her way over to another table, dragging Erebus behind her who shot me a rather apologetic smile as they left. I checked my watch only to find out that it was still about quarter of an hour before the meeting was meant to start and that was only if people were on time, which in reality they never are, so I leant back against the window and allowed sleep to claim me once more.

It was not long until the carriage was nearly full with prefects happily chatting amongst themselves as they waited to be issued with their new partners and routes for this year's rounds. Octavia had taken the seat next to me and soon began to complain about how her mother would not allow her to buy the dress she fell in love with in a little boutique in Paris as it was designed by Victoire Delacour-Weasley. She said that although she very much disliked the Weasleys, and the Potters as well for that matter, but blood status should not get in between a girl and her sense of fashion, something which I could not relate to.

She was just about to dive headfirst into her second rant of the day when Molly got up onto the seat so that she was standing at least two feet taller than everyone else, her hand extended to a sandy haired boy who she pulled up next to her. Some turned to look at the pair while others were not so polite and paid no attention, continuing with whatever trivial conversations they were already having.

"Hello," the boy spoke clearly, silencing everyone with a single word as the remaining few people ceased talking and turned to face them, "thank you all for joining us, although I'm pretty sure it wasn't out of choice," he earned a few laughs for that comment, "we are going to try and keep this short so we don't bore you too much, but I'll start off by saying that I'm the new head boy, Joey Bryer."

A wolf whistle sounded from the corner of the carriage, courtesy of a seventh year Ravenclaw who was slumped against the table clapping as the people who were sat either side of him joined him in applause. Joey rolled his eyes at the three boys, who I could only assume were his friends, as he laughed it off with a shake of his head.

"And for those of you who don't already know me, I'm the new head girl, Molly Weasley," she added.

I zoned out for the introductory speech and resorted back to staring out the window, unfortunately the birds had stopped diving towards the train, maybe they had finally learnt their lesson or they could have just moved onto better things. Five minutes had passed and I still wasn't paying much attention. The introductions are always the same: prefect rounds are once a week, always check the broom cupboard at the end of the fifth floor corridor and no, you can't change partners, I don't care if they slept with your boyfriend.

I felt a gentle shove in my side as Octavia's elbow dug into my ribs, I looked up at her and she nodded towards Joey and Molly. They had begun to announce the new prefects for this year so it was probably a good time to tune back in, "so, joining the ranks of the Gryffindor prefects this year we have Louis Weasley and Rose Weasley."

A polite round of applause ensued.

"Merlin, you Weasley's are taking over the school," a rather over confident looking boy said, inciting a chorus of laughs which only grew in volume as Rose herself smacked him over the head with a textbook. His hand raised to rub the back of his head where it had made contact with the corner of a hefty copy of Advanced Potion Making.

"Well," Joey started, "that was my idiot of a little brother, Robbie, who will be representing Hufflepuff alongside Lucy Weasley," he smirked at his sibling who was looking rather pleased with himself then carried on to announce the Ravenclaw prefects - Mia Esree and Lorcan Scamander - to which I clapped that little bit louder for the sake of house pride..

He stepped down from the seat, nodding towards Molly to continue, as he began sorting the mass of envelopes on their tables into four separate piles.

"Last but most certainly least, for Slytherin we have -"

"Oh shut it Weasley," Keres snapped, cutting her off. The redhead looked a little taken aback as she wasn't expecting Keres to have quite such a violent outburst at what was clearly intended to be a harmless joke.

The quiet chatter ceased as she stood up, eyes narrowed at Molly. Erebus instinctively rose as well, slinging an arm around her waist cautiously as he didn't want to wind her up further.

"Still can't take a joke Carrow?" someone questioned from the doorway.

All eyes turned to the source of the voice where a tall boy stood, brown hair styled perfectly into a messy quiff bar the one strand that had escaped the confines of multiple styling potions and now rested upon his forehead. He had the kind of presence that held stares, provoked whispers and could silence an entire room with a single look but he didn't deserve it.

Keres' eyes flitted angrily between both Molly and the newcomer, her mouth opening to retort but she was beaten to it by a certain redhead.

"How nice of you to finally grace us with your presence," Molly said, still stood on the bench, but she was now leaning back against the window with her arms folded across her chest. She may have sounded overly sarcastic but she spoke with a smile that held a certain fondness reserved only for family or the closest of friends.

Keres, I'm surprised to say, chose this moment to sit back down and back out of the conversation whilst Erebus left his arm wrapped tightly round her waist to assure she didn't do anything rash. She may be irrational, prejudiced, and has ever such a short temper, but she's smart and therefore knows that the last thing we need right now is a scene.

He took his attention away from the couple and instead gave it to Molly, "you don't need me here Mols," he smiled slightly to which she only frowned, she has always hated that nickname which is precisely why he calls her by it, "you're doing a great job of pissing off the purebloods all on your own."

"You're insufferable, you know that?"

He was, I could vouch for that.

"I do try," the smirk remained proudly on his face as he slid into the nearest empty seat, swinging his legs up onto the table in one graceful movement. The girl who had the misfortune of sitting next to him, though based on the look of utter glee that her expression morphed into I doubt she would agree, giggled almost childishly and flicked her hair over her shoulder. He leant back, stretching his arms behind him as he flexed his muscles, causing the hem of his top to ride up a few centimetres, revealing a bar of tanned skin above the waistband of his jeans. A fair few girls had taken to staring, and even one of the younger guys, all of whom took no shame in quite obviously checking him out as he lapped up the attention, even being self-assured enough to wink at one of them.

That, ladies and gentlemen, was James Sirius Potter. Arrogance extraordinaire, captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team and owner of a golden wand that's shoved so far up his own arse, I'm surprised he can still walk straight.

After the commotion had died down she announced the final two prefects – Clio Yaxley and Albus Potter to no one's surprise – before the envelopes containing our partners for the year began to circulate around the carriage.

Octavia's forehead hit the table with a dull thud as she groaned in discontent, "I've been paired with girl Weasley," she explained gesturing towards Rose who was failing to conceal her look of horror as she had also realised who her new partner was.

Rose Weasley was nowhere near as bad as Octavia was making her out to be.

Pretentious, a little.

Intelligent, most certainly.

Arrogant, not as much as her cousin, but she was a decent person and that counts for a lot in my eyes.

"There's worse Vee, I mean you could have ended up with Potter," I reasoned, looking over to where the boy in question was sat with a Hufflepuff who was batting her eyelids at him with such speed, she genuinely looked like she was suffering from a severe eyelid spasm.

"True," she visibly shivered.

Molly rushed past me in her hurry to dish out the envelopes, throwing one in my general direction with a muttered apology as she went. I couldn't tell whether the apology was in general or aimed specifically at me which gave me little hope as to getting a good partner for the rounds. Octavia's fingers were tangled in her hair as she held her hand up with a hand, her face the perfect picture of despair when Molly had ignored her demands to change partners.

"But she's so bigoted and pred-"

"And you're not?" Molly interjected with a dismissive wave, "you're both as bad as each other." I suspected that she wanted to finish that remark with something along the lines of deal with it or stop with the whining, but she promptly walked off to throw an envelope at another unsuspecting prefect. I soon tuned out of Octavia's complaints, she was a nice enough girl and was there for me when I needed her - which I made sure was almost never - but she had the unfortunate tendency of getting caught up in her own insignificant problems. That's not to say that I think her issues are trivial, I just believe there are more important things to worry about than her hair colour being two shades off platinum blonde which she had specifically asked for at the hairdressers or the dress she was forbidden from buying in Paris, things like world hunger, disease and war.

I picked up the envelope the redheaded girl had left for me, slipping a finger under the paper fold to open it, when I was interrupted by a voice that sounded from above me.

"I think we're paired together."

I raised my gaze until my eyes met his.

Varying shades of viridian swirled aimlessly around his irises to create a quite striking effect when paired with an abundance raven hair. Sure enough, when I unfolded the piece of parchment, the name Albus Potter was scrawled across the top in Molly's elegant handwriting.

"I guess we are."

.• •.

Amicable chatter escaped the many compartments that lined the train, floating happily down the corridor in which I stood, wandering with little aim. Okay, so perhaps that was something of a lie, there was some aim to my ambling. I was looking for someone, the only true friend I had actually, but since I had no clue where she was, it was taking a little longer than expected. I'd already walked through nearly half of the twenty one student carriages on the express, which had nearly doubled in number over the past decade due to the post-war baby boom. Apparently, after Voldemort had been defeated, people had wanted nothing more than to return to their beds, back car seats and perhaps the odd kitchen table with their partners, and there we have it, the largest student body Hogwarts has had since the temporary closure of Ilvermorny in 1843.

It's strange, yet at the same time interesting, the things you hear that are not intended for yourself. It's like a car crash to the ears, you know you shouldn't listen out of respect more than anything, but for some reason, you just can't help it.

Take the young boy in compartment 24 for example, apparently he broke up with his girlfriend this morning as, and I tell you this truthfully, she couldn't tell the difference between the Appleby Arrows and the Wimbourne Wasps. Ah young love, it lasts about a week and even holding hands is considered the greatest of milestones. However, if he tries to maintain a standard like that, he'll be spending the rest of his life watching quidditch matches alone.

The animated Ravenclaw in section twenty six, who I often see pouring over a copious amount of transfiguration books in the common room most evenings, seemed to have had something of an eventful holiday. Over the summer, her little sister accidentally mixed up the pet food with SuperGro Solution so now they have a rabbit the size of a small car and a lot of curious questions from their muggle neighbours who keep hearing weird noises coming from the garage. With their single father being a muggle, they had to call on one of her more magical friends parents to sort out the whole ordeal for them. It may have been a situation that nearly earned them a hearing at the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes but, after a quick visit from a wizard working for the Muggle-Worthy Excuses Committee, it's now just a story that can be laughed about.

Something which I have so very few of.

Perhaps the most interesting, yet unsurprising, of all the conversations I had overheard was the girl in the next compartment along who sat, blonde hair covering her face, as her whole body shook with sobs.

"- but I thought he loved me -" she wailed.

"- he's a complete idiot, it's his loss -" someone reassured her.

"- yeah but he's fit though -" a third added.

The crying only grew louder.

"- that's not helping Marnie -"

From what I gathered amongst her intermittent sniffling, James Potter, Hogwarts' resident man whore, had cheated on her over the summer.

Like I said, unsurprising.

With a sob louder than the rest, she raked the back of her palm across her face to wipe away the tears but only succeeded in leaving a dark line of mascara that led up to her hairline.

"You jealous?"

The way he spoke unnerved me, like he already had you coiled up in the palm of his hand, willing to do anything he asked without a seconds hesitation. It was dangerous yet beautiful, untrustworthy yet intoxicating, but at the same time it felt like it held the power to right all the wrongs in this world. His raised intonation presented it not quite as a question, but almost like an expectation, as if I would be stupid not to be jealous.

"Of Blondie over there?" I gestured towards the girl who sat on the other side of the glass, still mourning the end of her late night rendezvous with the boy in front of me, "No, I'd say pity is the word, I mean she did sleep with you after all."

Hazel eyes raked my frame in appraisal before returning to my face, his expression indiscernible as his lips curved in amusement, "Trust me, she enjoyed it, otherwise she wouldn't have kept coming back for more."

"- and he was really good in bed -" another choked sob floated through the closed door and out into the corridor.

"See."

"Everyone makes mistakes Potter, I don't blame her for the indiscretion."

He let out a soft chuckle at that comment, his body still leaning against the side of the carriage and hands stuffed in his trouser pockets. He'd quickly adorned that I-don't-care sort of exterior and nothing I said seemed to even scratch it, he just laughed at my insults.

"Wow," he ran his fingers through his hair, looking straight at me, "so much hate for something so pretty."

Objectification.

Congratulations Potter, you're more of an idiot than I originally thought.

He was trying to wind me up, that much was obvious but I needed to get myself out of this situation, and fast, it will only draw attention to me.

"Flattery will get you nowhere," I called out, giving him one final glance before I walked straight past him, bumping his shoulder with some force. On purpose, of course.

"Trust me, flattery has gotten me many places."

It was that comment, in all it's misogynistic glory, which saw me turning back to face him with a speed that would have left most stumbling over their feet.

"If you get what I mean," he added, the smirk playing on his lips was growing by the second. He was trying to get to me and we both knew it was working, i could already feel him beginning to crawl under my skin.

Maybe I will have to add misogynistic bastard to the ever expanding list of reasons why I hate James Sirius Potter, and believe me when I tell you that it's really quite long.

"You're disgusting," I said calmly, showing little emotion, "seriously just get over yourself."

He cocked his head slightly, smirk falling and brow creasing, "we've never spoken before yet you seem to hate me so much," he chose to state the obvious, "I don't even know your name."

He ran a hand through his hair again, a seemingly familiar move to him, as he did it more often than was necessary yet, annoyingly, his hairstyle never appeared to suffer for it. There was something about James Sirius Potter that drew people to him, something which I could never quite see myself. I guess it didn't hurt that he was somewhat attractive, I wouldn't say he's as beautiful as everyone seems to believe, but it was more than that.

"I know and I'd like to keep it that way if you don't mind," I knew he wasn't going to let me go easily so I devised a change of tactics, "what's her name?" I nodded towards Blondie who was still crying her eyes out.

"What?" he hadn't expected that question, confusion graced his features for a few seconds before he answered, "Erm Chelsea, Chelsea McLaggen."

And with that vital piece of information, I hastily walked towards her compartment door. As soon as Potter realised what I was about to do, he lunged at me grabbing my arm in an attempt to haul me backwards but I'd already grasped the handle, pulling the door wide open. He quickly leapt to the side, hiding from the view of the five rather confused looking girls who had turned to face me.

"You're Chelsea McLaggen yes?" I asked Blondie who nodded cautiously in response, her friend tightened the grip around her shoulder protectively.

"W-what do y-you want?" she choked out, trying desperately to compose herself.

"James Potter is looking for you, he was saying something about making a mistake and you being the best he's ever had." In response to that statement her mascara smeared eyes shot wide open in a sort of hopeful look as she frantically wiped away the tears. Three of her friends squealed in excitement whilst the forth just sent me a look that quite clearly said Merlin help me.

"Oh look," I exclaimed, extending my right arm until my hand clasped around something firm, "here he is now," I yanked his arm with enough force to pull him into the doorway and thus right in their line of sight.

"JAMESY," she screeched, quite literally throwing herself towards him. He only just managed to catch her before she face planted the floor, with those admirable quidditch reflexes of his.

"I knew you cared Jamesy, I knew it you know," she babbled, clapping her hands together like an overexcited seal. For a second he looked not dissimilar to a fish out of water, at a complete loss of what to do. He composed himself in enough time to make sure her rather overprotective friends didn't assume that things were awry.

"Of course I do Chealse," he smiled sheepishly, pulling her into a reluctant hug.

I attempted to suppress a small giggle that tried to escape in response to this entire situation which earned me an unpleasant scowl from Potter, sent over Blondie's shoulder while she was busy burying into his neck mumbling things about true love.

Turning to face away from the girls, he mouthed an incoherent string of words at me but I'm pretty sure there were a few pieces of rather colourful language thrown in there too. So I did what any normal person would do, shot him the most patronising smile I could manage and said, "well, I'm so glad you two have finally found each other again."

"Yes, we will be so happy won't we Jamesy?" Blondie practically sang as her head snapped up to gaze at him.

If she calls him Jamesy one more time it's more than likely that I will throw up everywhere.

To be honest, based on the current look on Potter's face, I think he will too.

I'd pretty much had all my fun tormenting them so I simply turned tail and left him to deal with the blonde seventh year that was now clinging to him like her life depended on it.

The rain had intensified, lashing out at the side of the train as wisps of clouds began to blot out the intertwining hues of oranges and reds that swirled around the sunset. After my brief encounter with the school's resident narcissist, I'd resorted to sauntering through the carriages looking for my one and only frien, in an attempt to ignore the weird feeling I was left with. It was a peculiar mix of an obvious regret with almost a hint of complacence which I guess was understandable since I'd just kicked James Sirius Potter off of his high horse, a task which no one has dared do since, well never actually.

I guess other people have a lot more common sense than me.

Despite my sudden complacency, regret was the overriding emotion in this situation and, when you have a family like mine, it's not hard to guess why. I've spent the last five years of my school life trying to blend in becoming as close to invisible as I can possibly get and I've done so quite successfully I believe. I'm that girl that sits at the back of the classroom unnoticed by everyone else in the room, I swear at least two thirds of the year don't even know my name. Most teenagers would hate that but see if people don't notice me, they don't pay attention to what I do, who I speak to or even where I ago which means none of that information will get back to my mother so she can tell me what an awful daughter I am.

Yet somehow I've managed to get myself into conversations with two of the most popular guys in the entire school before giving both of their egos a well deserved beating and then earning myself a one on one chat with none other than Keres Carrow.

Well done Aria, what a brilliant start to the year.

Normally I wouldn't retaliate when someone gets on my nerves or starts an entirely pointless argument just for the sake of it as it brings me back to my justification of not drawing any attention to myself but there's just something about people like James Potter and Alfie Marsden who think they are so much better than everyone else, that I genuinely can't stand. Maybe it's down to the resentment I've harboured over the many years I'd had to live amongst family of purebloods each with their own inherent superiority complex.

"ARIA," Zoey exclaimed, her face lit up as I slid open the door into the compartment where she was sat, surrounded by an array of muggle books and about half the contents of the Honeyduke's Express trolley. Before I'd even had a chance to take a step forward, her arms were already wrapped tightly around me, enveloping me in a near bone-crushing hug which I returned gladly.

I hate hugs.

And people.

But for my best friend and partner in crime, I make an exception.

Zoey Louise Martin, quite frankly, could not be more different than me.

Where I was reserved and avoided unnecessary human contact, she was sociable and friendly to pretty much anyone.

When I was so often bitter, she was really quite sweet.

Where I questioned everything, she had this kind of halcyon attitude that I couldn't help but envy.

Yet perhaps the most significant difference of all is that when I always see the bad in people, she almost always sees the good.

I guess we balance each other out.

Despite having a complexion nearly as pale as mine, she had a certain warmth to her face that my skin didn't possess. Her rich brown hair fell to just below her shoulders, some covering the azuline eyes that were now staring up at me, full of excitement.

"Your hair it's -"

"Ridiculous?" I supplied.

"Beautiful," she finished, dragging me over to the window so she could see it properly.

Long gone was the mousey brown crop that I had before the summer, but in it's place were an abundance of flowing chestnut locks that shone a brilliant red when they caught the light. Basically, if you stick me outside on a sunny day, most would probably mistake me for some long lost relative of the Weasley clan.

"Erm surprise," I upturned my hands with a sheepish grin. Her ginger furred cat glared at me with a low hiss from where it was perched upon the luggage rack. Pyro, she was called, which I thought was a fitting name as that animal was conceived in the fiery pits of hell.

"Why do I get the feeling that this was no choice of your own?" she laughed, "how many people had to pin you down before you gave in?"

"My mother, father, Millie the house elf, the cat," I jokingly counted the list off on my fingers, "I think my little sister had to sit on me at one point."

"I love it," she said, running a piece between her fingers, "you really do suit long hair."

"You sound like my mother."

She cringed, "that's never a good thing."

"One of the more accurate things you've said in your lifetime."

She let the strand of hair fall back into place and, like Octavia, she smoothed down a few ends that had begun to stick up slightly before starting to clear a space for me on the seat opposite. She gathered together books, an abnormally large quantity of sweets, and far too many wrappers as her belongings had managed to take over the entire compartment.

"So what convinced you to grow it out?"

I cleared my throat, flicking a section of hair over my shoulders as I straightened my posture, "Aria Lorelei Rosier," I put on the poshest accent I could muster, "you will not attract any fitting suitors if most of them mistake you for a boy."

She'd never met my mother, and I hope she never has to, but after the numerous stories I've told her she has a relatively good idea of what she is like.

"Ah, I should've known," Zoey shrugged and sat back down, narrowly avoiding crushing the chocolate frog that had made its bid for freedom. Picking up a copy of The Hunger Games, a book which she has been trying to get me to read since the day I met her, she slid a bookmark in between the pages and placed it on a pile to her right.

"How were the Maldives?" I asked, knowing fine well she wanted to tell me all about it but was refraining from doing so as she knew I had been stuck in the manor all summer being made to attend countless formal gatherings.

Her face broke into a smile at my words.

"It was beautiful and so hot, ugh I miss the heat," she sighed almost longingly, "I can tell you now, after two weeks of sun, sea and the odd peach bellini, coming back to this weather was a shock." We both turned to look out the window into the grey torrent of rain and cloud and it wasn't hard to understand what she meant, Britain wasn't exactly famed for its good climate. Zoey had spent an enviable amount of time lounging on white sand beaches with some probably attractive waiter at her beckon call, ready to serve her whichever virgin cocktail had taken her fancy on that particular day. Apparently, on one occasion, she tried to get served something a little more alcoholic but the bartender had taken one look at her before telling her to go back to her villa and put an episode of Scooby Doo on which I believe is a child's television show. Her mother, of course, found the whole ordeal entirely hilarious but bought her the pina colada herself in the end.

"It's so much smaller than I expected though," a frown graced her features, replacing the once bright smile, "mum said that when she went there in the early 2000s, like about 2003 I think, it was almost twice the size it is now."

"Global warming's a bitch," I added, "actually so is humanity in general."

She nodded firmly in agreement, "I can't argue with that."

"It's all you muggles and your cars."

"I'm not a muggle, I'm a muggleborn."

"I'm telling you now, apparition is carbon neutral."

Who would have thought it, the wizarding high society is unintentionally saving Antarctica. Maybe the purebloods have something going for them after all.

"Well if Janice from next door didn't drive her kids three streets along to the school everyday, then the icebergs wouldn't have melted and the polar bears would all be alive. THREE STREETS ARIA, THREE STREETS. THAT'S A FIVE MINUTE WALK."

She was beginning to look rather distressed and, amid her torrent of frantic hand gestures, she managed to knock her neatly organised pile of books right off the bench so that they now lay in a cluttered pile around my feet. She groaned in frustration, not even bothering to pick them up.

"Although I agree with you that it's ridiculous, I'm pretty sure Janice alone didn't murder the polar bears," I reasoned, taking a pumpkin pasty out of a nearby paper bag before nibbling at the corner. It was a bit stale and had retained little warmth since it was last reheated but my stomach had been rumbling for the better part of fifteen minutes so right now I'd take pretty much anything as long it's edible.

"She murdered my pet goldfish because she fed it double chocolate cookies when my mum was on holiday with Aunty Norma and nearly ran over our rabbit with her high powered lawnmower, poor Steven was traumatised by the ordeal."

I remember quite clearly the death of Sir Archibald the fish. She had gotten a letter from her mother, delivered by her rather dozy tawny owl who nearly dived into her porridge, halfway through our first year and ran from the hall in floods of tears. That night all the girls in our dormitory held a candlelit, but notably bodiless, funeral for her late aquatic friend and stayed up until the early hours of the morning with cake and pumpkin juice in attempt to cheer her up. Considering she cried her way through an entire care of magical creatures lesson the next day while Hagrid just awkwardly patted her on the back, I don't think it worked.

"Next thing you know she'll have accidentally knocked Boris in the woodchipper. She's practically a serial killer of animals, I bet she's the sort of person who kills spiders," her tone of voice, and not to mention her choice of words gave away the abundance of ill feelings that she harboured towards this woman.

"I sense that you're not quite over the fish incident," I took a final bite of pumpkin pasty, scrunching up the paper wrapper carelessly in the knowledge that my mother wasn't here to scald me for my lack of etiquette.

"Like c'mon, who feeds an aquatic animal baked goods?" she asked rhetorically, "it's called idiocy."

"And a waste of a good cookie."

"Don't trust the cookies Aria," she looked at me with a grimace, her voice falling to a whisper "never trust the cookies."

The final hour of the journey flew by with surprising speed as we continued to chat away, catching up on all the things we'd missed in each others lives over the course of the summer. I hadn't been able to see her for six weeks, I couldn't exactly invite a muggleborn to the manor, and I missed her more than I had realised. Nobody could make me laugh like she did, though I did find the look on mother's face rather amusing when my four year old sister Amaya managed to get a pea stuck up her nose at a formal dinner party last tuesday.

"Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans," she read the front of the small striped package with a grin, "want some?"

I stared at the box that she had outstretched to me, "go on then."

 __ _ **Author's Note: so here we have chapter two, there's a little more of Aria here to see, and you've finally met James :)**_


	3. Raindrops Falling

With a long awaited screech that resounded throughout the carriage, the train eventually began to slow, carrying on a couple of hundred yards before pulling to a final stop in Hogsmeade station. Steam billowed above the scarlet engine, lingering about the platform momentarily, before dissipating into the cool evening air. Vanilla chocoballs, sugar quills, fizzing whizbees, liquorice wands; the array of sweets we had bought from the trolley seemed endless as I scooped up all we had yet to eat, carelessly shoving them into Zoey's bag as she grabbed her muggle books that were still left strewn across the seats from earlier.

"I was hoping the storm would pass," she sighed, looking out the window as we waited to leave the train, "but I think it's actually gotten worse."

A bolt of lightning cut through the blackening clouds as if it was trying to agree with her statement.

"I love this weather," I mused, more to myself than anyone else as I placed a hand on the glass window, staring out across the monotonous landscape. In it's own way, it was strangely beautiful. The way the fog rolled down the valley sides and the odd star momentarily shone through a fleeting gap before being hidden once more by a canopy of blackened clouds.

"How can you prefer _this_ ," she gestured lazily towards the window with a flick of her wrist, "to the summer?"

I equated the summer to six weeks I had to spend alone with my family as they slowly chip away my already diminishing sanity.

"What about ice cream, walks on the beach, paddling pools when you were little, barbeques and summer holidays?" she began to ramble with a nostalgic smile on her face as she reminisced about all the memories from her childhood.

I never had any of that as a child, no walks on the beach with oversized ice creams that left your hands all sticky for a good few hours after you'd finished it, no paddling pools in the back garden that were so small you could probably only fit your left foot in comfortably, no barbeques around friends houses on lazy sunday evenings until the rain started of course and everyone had to run inside with whatever food they could grab. The only time I've ever been abroad is when went to visit Uncle Alasdair in Germany for my Aunt's funeral when I was nine and I wouldn't exactly call that a summer holiday.

If it was remotely enjoyable, we didn't do it.

"What about autumn," I countered, "golden leaves crunching underfoot, toffee apples and warm butterbeer, autumn berries, pumpkin pasties and halloween."

"You hate halloween."

"True," I agreed, sliding open the compartment door with relative ease, "but I'm trying to make a point so if you would just along with it for the sake of my argument it would be greatly appreciated."

"Oh so that's how it is."

"Precisely," I flashed her an over the top smile, to which she responded by pushing me through the door with a fair amount of force. And this is my life we're talking about, not one of the Hogwart's popular girls group where veela blood was practically an entrance right, or a quidditch captain who could do no wrong in the eyes of the student body. No this was me, a socially inept pureblood who seemed to attract bad luck like an industrial strength magnet. So the unfortunately the corridor wasn't empty as I could only hope for as the universe had seemingly decided that my ridicule was not over yet hence why I fell straight into none other than James Sirius Potter who - based on the harsh glare and the crease between his eyebrows - I'm assuming is still rather annoyed at me after earlier's fiasco.

If looks could kill, you'd better start preparing my funeral arrangements because the scowl Potter just sent my way could make even some of the bravest wizards tremble. Fortunately for me, my survival instincts seem to be wired against me which explains why I let out a rather loud snort in an attempt to hold back the laughter which overtook me only moments later when I realised Blondie was still clinging onto his arm like it was her only lifeline. She sent me a genuine smile, now knowing me as the one that helped get both her and Potter back together, before I looked over to him. Momentarily, his eyes locked onto me in a fleeting yet intense stare until all I saw was the back of his head, walking away from me.

Zoey had been a bystander for that entire situation, watching on with nothing but confusion as a boy - who to her knowledge didn't know I existed - looked at me with a certain hatred that didn't just stem from nowhere.

"What the hell was that about?"

I shrugged nonchalantly.

She raised an eyebrow expectantly but it soon dropped as she took note of the blank expression etched upon my face which drew her towards the incorrect conclusion that I genuinely didn't know what just happened.

While she processed the encounter, we slowly filed down the train, first years shoving past us in a frantic attempt to reach the platform where they could get their first proper view of the castle in all it's archaic glory, for which I didn't blame them, it truly is a sight to behold. Moments later, I was harshly shoved aside as two young boys, twins to be precise, shot between us, hair plastered to their foreheads, wands held loosely in hands and lacrosse sticks strapped tightly to their backs.

 _Lacrosse sticks?_

"Muggleborns," I smiled fondly.

"Americans," Zoey spoke at the same time with a slight laugh.

The boy on the left turned back to face us with an apologetic smile, "sorry," he yelled in an accent that Zoey would later identify as being from Boston, the same city that her father was born in before he migrated to England when he was four. From what I gathered, he had returned there after his split from Zoey's mother but I wasn't entirely certain, her dad is the one thing that she very rarely talks about. We smiled back, pleased that for once someone had actually had the courtesy to apologise, before he ran off into the rain to catch up with his brother.

When I stepped out of the carriage, I pulled my cloak tighter around my body in a somewhat feeble effort to protect myself from the rain that lashed out at my skin until it actually began to sting. Admittedly, this was far from pleasant. Zoey soon noticed what I was doing which caused her to smile slightly, the corners of her eye crinkling, "I thought you loved this weather."

"So did I," I laughed slightly before continuing, "rain, I love. Feeling like my face is being attacked by a swarm of angry wasps, I can't say I enjoy so much."

The numerous layers of mascara she had painstakingly applied on the train, despite every shudder and bump that rocked the carriage as the wheels rolled along the tracks, were beginning to run down her face and blend with her foundation forming a black smudge that spread across her cheeks. She stared at her reflection in a puddle with a discontented groan, "ugh, this makeup was supposed to be Kardashian inspired but now I just look like Beetlejuice."

"What's a Kardashian?"

Her smile dropped as she feigned a serious expression, "scary creatures made mostly of plastic who have outlined their plan for world domination using sex tapes and surprisingly good matte lip kits."

I ran through her words in my head for a moment, debating what part of that statement to question first but instead focussed on a broader over-arching query, "will I ever understand muggles?"

"I doubt it," she laughed.

I opened my mouth to provide her with some half-assed counter argument in my defense but stopped, pressing my lips together as, at that exact moment, I noticed that the rain had stopped falling upon me, but instead had chosen to curve its path around the both of us.

"Did you..." Zoey began, looking to the sky with an unfounded sense of awe as she'd come to have the same revelation as I had.

"No," I answered before she had even finished her question.

"Ah, that may have been down to me," I turned until my gaze fell upon a sandy haired boy who was tucking his wand back into his robes, "you ladies really need to brush up on your wandwork, and both Ravenclaws too, I'm disappointed."

The lazy smirk he wore suggested that he fully intended to show off a little, but the smile he hid behind it showed that it was all in good humour. Zoey reached into her bag, pulling out a book which she proceeded to bat him over the head with, not too hard though, just enough to make a point. He grumbled, raising a hand to rub the back of his head.

"Oh shut up," she said before the boy - Aiden, if we're using names - into a tight hug which he had no problem returning.

"Nice makeup," he commented, "what look were you going for? Beetlejuice?"

"I hate you," she lied before turning to me, her expression quite clearly screaming _'_ _I told you so'._ I halfheartedly bit back a smile but she noticed and her face contorted into a scowl.

"I know you do."

It wouldn't be wrong to assume that Zoey was the friendlier of the two of us, hence why she has a few more good friends who, although were always nice to me, I considered to be more of an acquaintance than anything. If I'm being quite honest about the situation, I can come across as quite the bitch to the few who actually know who I am. I'm not really like that, I just distance myself from people, the last thing I need is people knowing I'm a Rosier. The only person who's ever managed to crack through my carefully constructed facade is of course Zoey although it would be fair to say Molly is getting somewhere too. I've survived the last five years of school by making sure I was known as ' _that quiet girl from Ravenclaw'_ rather than _'one of those fanatic pureblood types_ ' but now, thanks to my mother and her abundance of cosmetic potions, the likes of Alfie Marsden and James Potter had starting displaying an interest that they had never shown before which was honestly worrying me slightly.

Aiden's next comment only served to further back up my point, "Aria? Is that...you look _amazing_."

As it turns out, all you need is a new haircut and a tight fitting blouse to get people to notice you.

Well ladies, I guess beauty really is skin deep.

Zoey's smile faltered for a second.

"Yes it's me," I answered with a curt nod that was somewhat formal in nature. Zoey shot me the look that she often used to remind me that I was talking to another teenager, not some pureblood socialite at one of the Nott family balls.

He laughed slightly, "you're always so..." a momentary pause made it's way into the conversation, "prim and proper."

"It's how I've always been taught to act," I shrugged nonchalantly in an attempt to relax a little and appear more casual.

"You need to loosen up a little, you know, forget about the formalities."

"The day Aria loosens up is the day I finally manage to get an O in defence," Zoey cut in.

"Didn't you nearly blow up Davis' classroom last year?"

"Exactly."

He turned back to me, walking closer to the both of us so that he was also shielded from the rain, "have you cut your hair?"

"Seriously?" Zoey looked less than impressed.

"I'm joking, I'm joking. It's long now and a little ginger," he laughed, gaze fixed on me, "didn't peg you for a weasley wannabe."

I tried to muster the most exasperated look I could managed, but failed to hide my smile; I may try and isolate myself from him as I do everyone else, but he always did manage to cheer me up, even when I wasn't sad.

Zoey jumped into a conversation with Aiden which began to tune out as we began to walk towards the carriages.

I fell into step behind them, but the content I felt when surround by my own thoughts was soon broken by the uncomfortable feeling of another pair of eyes on me, Alfie Marsden was staring at me yet again. Within seconds it had become something of a competition in which neither party could avert their gaze, to do so would be to cast a judgement of weakness upon myself which I was not going to allow. He dragged it out for the better half of a minute before giving in with an ill intended wink as he turned back to join the conversation Potter was having with one of his many cousins, Freddie Weasley this time I believe.

Aiden's hand was outstretched, offering to help me up onto carriage as he had done for Zoey but I didn't take it, instead I grabbed onto the handle and pulled myself up out of the mud. He rolled his eyes with a small laugh, "I forgot you like to do everything yourself."

"Did nobody tell you that chivalry is dead?"

"It may have been mentioned once or twice, but alas, I am gentleman," he took a small bow before taking a seat next to Zoey whilst the group of third years, who we unfortunately had to share a carriage with, kept giggling and looking his way. The wheels began to turn once more as we began our journey towards the castle, still shielded from the rain by Aiden's charm as everyone else was left to soak through. You would've thought that Hogwarts, an a thousand year old school of magic, had solved this issue by now.

The many who have said that Aiden Edwards can charm the pants off of the majority of the female population at Hogwarts would indeed be correct. There are very few who were yet to become victim to his boyish charms, and I just happened to be one of them. When your mother has already created a list of potential husbands for you before your seventh birthday it's hard to see the point in relationships. I mean I understand how happy it can make other people but I don't get to be one of those girls and, if I'm honest, it doesn't bother me all that much.

"So did you hear who got the captaincy this year," Aiden asked, for once looking somewhat hopeful without his usual confidence. We both had heard the news on the train when the Ravenclaw quidditch team in its entirety had paraded down the carriages with him on their shoulders chanting, ' _Edwards is our king'_. Zoey was just about to reply, most likely to congratulate him, when I decided to cut in.

"No I haven't actually," I shook my head, "my bet's on Danvers though."

A hint of confusion washed over my best friend's face before she realised what I was doing, "yeah I agree, she's perfected the Woollongong shimmy," Zoey nodded enthusiastically, "I heard that she's already been scouted by Puddlemere."

I went along with her despite having no clue what a _wooly-whatever_ shimmy was but it sounded impressive albeit a little weird. I was pretty uneducated when it came to quidditch but Zoey, despite hating flying, loved watching the sport and therefore knew a fair deal more than I.

"What do you think?" I asked Aiden, who was looking disheartedly at his thumbs as he mumbled his way through his appraisal of Samantha Danvers' sporting abilities. We both glanced at him, then turned our heads back to each other before Zoey started to shake with laughter.

"Edwards, I commend you on your modesty, I really do".

He looked up at me with clear confusion.

"We know you got the captaincy, you idiot," Zoey shoved him playfully, and a smile broke out across his face.

"Well done you deserve it."

The carriage ride didn't last all that much longer, maybe twenty minutes at a push, before we had reached the castle. Professors ushered us into the Great Hall, insisting it was customary for us all to be ready and seated before the first years all stumbled in with awestruck expressions plastered across their faces. I'm not even joking about the stumbling, last year I counted three of the poor children who fell over because they were too busy looking up at the ceiling rather than watching where they were going.

I wonder if they can beat that record this year.

Just as we began to make our way towards the door, Zoey nudged me sharply in the ribs, "I'm just going to run up to my dorm with this," she gestured towards the oversized bag she was still clutching, "I'll make it back in time won't I?"

I glanced down at my watch, "you've got ten minutes, run."

She waited for moment, asking me if I'd save her a seat, until Professor Thornley's back was turned before bolting up the stairs at quite a pace.

Moment's later, the large wooden doors swung open to reveal the usual grand setting that we were presented with during the sorting ceremony. Four long tables ran the length of the hall, inviting students to sit down with their friends, chat for a bit whilst nibbling on one of the cookies the house elves had prepared which served as a constant reminder of the feast that would soon follow. Candles floated gracefully around the ceiling with the intention of lighting the hall while an array of banners, each representing its own house's colours, hung loosely from the walls.

It felt good to be back, free from my mother's scrutiny and the pressure to adhere to the Sacred Eight's pureblood ideals.

 _I was home._

Ten minutes had passed since I sat down at the table and Zoey still hadn't returned; I wasn't worried, she was more than capable of handling herself, but I was a little curious to say the least. One by one, the plates of cookies vanished from the tables, signalling the arrival of the first years for the sorting ceremony. The doors swung open once again, this time revealing a group of small children who began walking towards the front, some with apprehension, others with excitement and a few with a look of pure wonder.

A loud clatter sounded from the side of the group where one of the children had tripped, grasping onto one of the Gryffindor student's robes in a feeble attempt to soften the fall.

Well, that's one of them down already.

It wasn't until the last few first years stepped into the hall that I noticed Zoey trying to blend in with them by hovering at the back but, as she stood at least two feet above the tallest of them, she wasn't having much success. Her eyes scanned the table until she found me before breaking away from the pack, earning a disapproving look from McGonagall, as she slid into the seat next to me.

"What took you so long?" I whispered a little louder than intended. Aiden looked up at us from where he had sat across the table with some of the quidditch team, his interest clearly sparked.

"I'll tell you soon," she responded. I was expecting her to say _'I couldn't solve the riddle'_ or _'the stairs decided to change on me'_ but the fact that she's waiting to tell me must mean that something of some importance had happened and I would be lying if I said I wasn't a little intrigued.

" _Richard Aberforth_ ," McGonagall's voice cut across the whispers with a sense of authority that silenced everyone in the room.

A small boy took a tentative step forward, his face the perfect image of anxiety. He was ushered up to the stool to which his fingers now clung until his knuckles had turned a pasty white. As soon sorting hat was placed on his head, it sprung to life wasting little time before it yelled, " _RAVENCLAW_ ," and my table erupted into cheers.

If I'm being honest, I zoned out for the remainder of the ceremony, it's not that I didn't enjoy them. The first evening wouldn't be the same without it but by the sixth year of it all, every crying, terrified, confused or elated kid just rolls into one at it all becomes the same. The only words that were of any importance to me were, of course, left until the very end when she raised her hands and said, "let the feast begin."

Plate after plate of mouthwatering foods fizzled into existence as I turned to Zoey, awaiting an explanation. She shovelled a spoonful of shepherd's pie onto her plate, frowning at me slightly before beginning, "I bumped into James Potter, he asked about you." She had known something was up when he scowled at me on the train. "He wanted to know your name," she continued.

 _Oh Merlin._

My fork slipped from my grasp, clattering harshly on the metal plate as I mumbled apologies to the dozen people who had turned to see what was going on.

"You didn't tell him, did you?"

I tried to act casual, like it didn't bother me in the slightest but her raised eyebrow told me that she'd sensed my nervousness. Normally I was a good liar, excellent in fact, but if there's one thing Zoey is good at it's working out what I'm feeling, she can read me like an open book.

"Not exactly," she replied, choosing not to question my behaviour though I had no doubt in my mind that she would bring me up on it later. The small rush of relief that statement gave me was short-lived once I'd realised that it wasn't the definitive ' _no_ ' that I was hoping for.

"What does that mean?"

She bit down on her lip to mask a smile, taking a small sip of pumpkin juice from her silver goblet to try and hide it further.

Mischief sparked throughout her eyes.

"It means, I may have told him that your name was Verity," the smirk on her face began to grow as she placed the mug back down on the table in front of her.

It didn't take me long to click on to what she was trying to tell me.

"And by that did you, by any chance, mean the same Verity that happens to lead his little army of teenage fangirls."

"Why yes Aria, I believe I did."

By this point we were both sat there grinning at each other like a pair of overexcited children, "do I ever tell you how truly brilliant you are sometimes?"

"Only sometimes?" she mocked offence, "anyway, c'mon you need to eat."

My plate was piled with roast potatoes but, by the time everyone else had finished eating, the majority still remained as I'd unsurprisingly lost my appetite after ending up with a few too many foul tasting Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans on the journey here.

Desserts had come and gone, now people were beginning to filter out of the hall, making their way back to their common rooms after finishing their final mouthfuls of their meal. Zoey pushed the remains of her apple crumble away from her, straightening her blouse as she hoisted herself up out of her seat and started walking the length of the hall with me in tow.

"I think I've eaten enough to feed a small army," she groaned, clutching her stomach, as we made our way up the first flight of stairs.

"I'm not surprised, five different puddings is a tad excessive."

Sir Nicholas, more fondly known by the students as Nearly Headless Nick, floated past us as we round the corner, sending a friendly smile our way which we gladly returned. I'd often said that I prefered him to my own house's ghost, The Grey Lady, as she spent most of her time wallowing around the castle while the Gryffindors had ended up with a much more cheerful apparition.

"I just can't be expected to pick between sticky toffee or syrup sponge, and there was app-"

Her reply was cut short when Aiden ran up behind me, swinging an arm around us both, "you trying out for quidditch Aria?"

I reacted to the unexpected contact with only a slight flinch which was nothing compared to Zoey who nearly jumped out of her skin. He started laughing as she turned to face him, trying to steady her breathing while she glared at him with all the anger she could conjure.

It only made him laugh harder.

"Why are you asking me?" I questioned, removing his arm from my shoulder.

"Well Zoey hates flying but I don't know about you."

"I've never told you that," she said.

"I take note of these things," he turned back to me, still expecting an answer to his earlier question.

"I don't fly."

"Why?"

I shrugged.

"You're a woman of few words Rosier."

I cringed at his blatant use of my surname.

"But something tells me that's all I'm going to get for now," he finished as we strode up another flight of stairs.

"That's probably the most accurate thing you've said all day Edwards."

The winding expanse of corridors seemed endless and we trailed around the school halls, I sometimes wonder how I ever managed to find my way around the castle when I was a first year and other times I wonder how I still manage it now.

"Oh, and on another note, I am the bearer of good news," Aiden grinned which instilled little confidence in me as he pulled a red and gold envelope from the inside of his robes, "there's a party."

"YES," Zoey screeched, eyes bright with excitement.

"No," I said at the same time, with conviction.

Her face dropped, head turning to look at me with disappointment seeping into every feature, "why?"

"Parties aren't my thing."

They were about as far from ' _my thing'_ as you could possibly get. I had a habit of avoiding any kind of social interaction like the plague and I wasn't going to let this time be any different. The fact that weren't ever invited to any of them helped, unless it was a Ravenclaw quidditch one of course because then everyone who wore a blue tie throughout the school day got an invite. And as this was one James Potter's infamous parties, there was no need for me to worry about being invited because, well, I wouldn't be.

"We haven't gotten an invite anyways so it doesn't matter," she replied, looking a little disheartened as she said what was on my mind.

"That's where you are wrong," Aiden intervened.

Okay, so maybe I did need to start worrying.

"Well, you know how I'm captain of the quidditch team."

"Really?"

"Never noticed."

He rolled his eyes.

"Anyways, quidditch players get two plus ones."

"So you're inviting us," she asked, wide eyed and hopeful once more.

"Most of the girls in this school are about as shallow as a kid's paddling pool," he stated as if it was a known fact which, in a way, it was, "you and Zoey aren't."

"And that metaphor is a prime example of why I believe Hogwarts needs to add english language to the curriculum," I smiled.

"Remind me not to nominate you for head girl."

"You two amuse me," he said with with a slight shrug of his broad shoulders, "albeit unintentionally most of the time."

Me and Aiden both knew that Zoey would only go if I decided to accept the invitation so, since the party was a fortnight away, he said he'd give me up until a week on Thursday to change my mind before he asked someone else.

The bird before us sprang to life as we neared, stretching it's bronze wings gracefully, before settling back down to question us in it's usual melodic tone, "many have heard me, yet nobody has seen me, and I will not speak back unless spoken to first."

"What am I?"

I thought about it for a second.

 _An echo._

"I can never do these damn riddles," Zoey sighed, "sixteen times I slept out here in fourth year, _sixteen_."

I thought it was nearer somewhere in the vicinity of thirty five but I didn't question her on it. The second years at the time were rather nice about it though, whenever there was a party or some late night study group they'd leave a bottle of water and a blanket outside of the door for her incase she couldn't solve the riddle and there was nobody in the common room to let her in.

"Well you managed to do it earlier," I reasoned but she ignored me, instead opting to carry on with her self deprecating rant.

"- and I mean that was discounting the seventy six odd times Aria had to come and save me from my own stupidity."

"What about last year," Aiden asked, stopping her rant "how many times did you spend a night in the corridor then."

She looked thoughtful for a moment.

"Well none actually."

"See you're getting better," he smiled.

"Yeah I guess," she nodded, "well I mean, if you can define better as bribing a first year to let me through the door then sure I really have."

The kid didn't mind, he actually got quite a good deal out of it, a sickle a time, which meant he practically ran to the door every time Zoey called for him.

"Ah."

"Yes, ah."

"Will one of you just hurry up with the bloody riddle already," some boy shouted from the crowd of people that were beginning to accumulate behind us. They were numerous shouts of agreement and discontent from the students who'd been standing around watching Zoey rant when all they actually wanted was a nice warm bed to return to.

"An echo," I answered, to which the eagle nodded, allowing the door to swing open for us all. As I began to ascend yet another unnecessary staircase up to the Ravenclaw common room, Aiden called after me, "wait, did you know that this entire time?"

Zoey rolled her eyes fondly, "what do you think?"

I collapsed onto the sofa nearest the fire, relishing in it's warmth before anyone else could claim it for themselves. People began to flood into the common room, chatting away merrily with spirits so high that you'd think they'd forgotten that lessons begin tomorrow. Zoey sat down next to me, piling multiple cushions behind her back until she considered herself comfortable enough, "So," she began, "I think, as a reward for my outstanding performance in the James situation, I at least deserve an explanation."

"I want to hear this," Aiden yelled as he launched himself across the back of the sofa, eliciting an unhealthy creaking sound from the springs when he landed next to me. Kicking off his shoes, he put his feet up on the coffee table much to the annoyance of the young girl who was leaning on it. She huffed at him, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose but, as she was three years below us, she shoved her books to one side, choosing not to argue.

Respect your elders always seemed like a much better phrase when you were the older one in the situation.

I was about to protest, insisting that I would only tell Zoey about what happened as I wasn't exactly the sort who enjoyed sharing their problems but soon changed my mind when faced with the sort of hopeful expression he wore.

I did, however, threaten to throw him off the astronomy tower if he dared to tell anybody.

And so I began to explain this morning's events to them, starting with mine and James' less than pleasant conversation on the train and ending with how it lead to the considerably more entertaining incident with Chelsea McLaggen.

Her reply to all of this?

"Wait, are you telling me that James potter called you pretty?"

I let my head fall against the table with a dull thud, "does anyone in this damn school not have a thing for James Bloody Potter?"

"I don't," a voice piped up.

"Not helpful Aiden," I groaned. 

Sorry it's been so long but here I am with the third chapter, but here's some good news for those of you who don't know:

IS BACK AND RUNNING ONCE MORE.

So I'm going to continue this story over there, (I think we're onto chapter six so far on there so definitely farther than here), but would people be interested in me continuing to post them here too?

So for those of you who read this who haven't come across from , there's another four chapters waiting for you over there, here's the link: _Hopeless Manifestations_


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